Untitled
by Calliopiea
Summary: Two enemies spend the night together


Untitled  
  
Author: Calliopiea  
  
Rating: R  
  
Pairing: Voldemort/ Dumbledore  
  
Category: Romance/ Drama  
  
Warnings: Simply examine the pairing and decide if you want to continue, Doting!Voldemort Disclaimer: Hm, I don't own them but something tells me you already knew that . . .  
  
"I've missed you, Albus."  
  
I wasn't expecting to find him sitting on the windowseat in the corner of my office. In fact, he startled me at first. He had changed -- Certainly, that was true. The boyish good looks of yesteryear had faded and left a monster in their place. Yet this was a monster with those fine features I had adored -- a monster with waves of ink-black hair and with white-gold skin. A monster whose eyes were staring out into the proverbial nothingness -- Dark claret eyes, round and turbid.  
  
"It's been awhile . . ." I fade off, not knowing what to call him in this moment.  
  
"Voldemort," he interjects, waving his hand in dismissal. "Don't let familiarity interfere, Albus."  
  
"Why are you here?" I ask curiously, sitting down on the other end of the windowseat. So close I could probably touch him . . . And something about him wants to be touched, demands to be touched. And yet, is there any man as untouchable as the Dark Lord Voldemort?  
  
"I've missed you," he replies. His eyes catch mine -- Fire crackling in honeyed irises. He stares at me for a moment and then smiles indulgently. "I remember when you used to look at me like that," he says, turning his head to the side to give me a better view. My eyes memorize the lines of his face, the curves of his lips. "I didn't think that there was anything left to look at, Albus. Do you still find me beautiful then?"  
  
"Not really," I reply honestly and I watch as his chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. His eyes are cast downward, disappointment readable. "And yet I can't stop gazing at you . . ." I trail off. There's nothing more to be said.  
  
He knows that.  
  
Voldemort leans forward and kisses me -- this unnaturally tender kiss that seems so out-of-character for him. A kiss like warm molasses -- slow and languid. I'm not terribly shocked. I've seen this side of Voldemort before, after all. Characteristics that everyone else is blind to . . . Yet wouldn't they notice them if they would only look? Voldemort is unusually sympathetic towards others (providing they aren't muggle or muggle-born, of course). He's intensely studious and prefers time spent alone in his library to a meeting with his ever-faithful Death Eaters. He's ridiculously paternal toward that lot though -- the Death Eaters. He's surprisingly lenient, seldom raising his hand against them. He treats them as family . . . probably since he had none during his youth.  
  
I gently wrap my hand in Voldemort's hair, sidling closer to my one-time student. Voldemort's lips begin wandering, down my neck to my collarbone. A finger gently twists a button out of its buttonhole. Ah, Voldemort -- always so passionate and impulsive throughout his youth.  
  
"I loved you once," Voldemort murmured, his breath warm against my flesh. "Long ago . . . I can barely remember it now." Another button pops open and I watch him slowly undress me. It's done with a reverence that I'm unaccustomed to. He slowly reaches into the folds of my robe and grasps my cock in his bony palm.  
  
"Voldemort," I moan, testing the name in the grips of passion. It suits him well -- Just as I'd imagined it might. He leans his face against my inner thigh, rubbing his cheek up against my flesh -- like some sort of perverted kitten at a scratching post. If I wasn't so deliciously aroused, I might find the view humorous.  
  
"Will you try your best to forget this happened?" Voldemort asks suddenly. He's stroking my cock absently, not paying much attention to his work but . . . Merlin! . . . "What do we have when tonight is finished? What will become of us Albus?" There's something child-like about his fretful nature. It has this doting endearment that I adore.  
  
"Defect," I sigh and his lips twine around my cock. I don't know why but I'd always assumed that Voldemort would be cold -- frigid in this new incarnation. Instead, I find myself enveloped by a cavern of wet heat. I try to formulate words in my mind and my mouth: "Defect over to our side and we can have everything when tonight is finished."  
  
"Mmmm," Voldemort hums and the sound goes straight to my erection. He pulls away slowly, not wanting me to perish from withdrawal obviously, and stands before me. "Defect? Albus, you and I both know what would happen if I defected. We would have even less than we have now." I begin to say something but, this time, he intercedes: "I'd be dead, Albus. We both know that Cornelius Fudge would send me straight to Azkaban to receive the Dementor's Kiss. The Wizarding World would love the opportunity to spill my blood, Albus. Or at least have whatever's left of my mind." I nod in agreement -- He's right, of course. Oh, I could probably interfere and Voldemort would end up spending his life in Azkaban instead . . . But why would he leave an empire of power for that?  
  
"I won't forget this," I mutter. "I wouldn't want to forget this." He smiles -- this sweet smile that I seem to remember from his days as a second-year, roaming the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Tom Marvolo Riddle: I barely recognize him as the man standing before me. Could this be the young student I was so enamoured with back during the War against Grindelwald? Could this be the prodigy child of Hogwarts?  
  
He walks around to the bed and lies down, resting his head on one of the down pillows. "Make love to me, Albus," he sighs, like a hopeless romantic (which, of course, he is -- What type of man other than a hopeless romantic would invest himself into such "moralistic" crusades?). I cannot help but chuckle slightly at the unintended melodrama. His eyebrows knit together and he scowls -- Looking the part of the Dark Lord for once.  
  
"Calm yourself, Voldemort," I whisper, climbing on top of the bed. "I'm not laughing at you, my lawless child." He smiles at that -- Yes, the lawless child. The black sheep. The one that escaped my good-natured grasp. I begin to undress him, whispering semi-sweet nothings in his ear: "I adore you . . . You are everything . . . You are radiant . . . I hold you above all others . . ." He moans and I wonder how long it's been since he's been honestly held in someone's arms. Those who live for power often live for nothing else -- Including love.  
  
He spreads his legs, not needing to be asked. I'm not incredibly surprised that I'm going to be the aggressor in this coupling. I have fateful seniority and, deep in the pit of his soul, Voldemort knows that I possess greater power than he could ever dream of. The relationship between Voldemort and myself is (and has always been) a complex one -- He admires me yet, at the same time, he fears me. I respect him yet, at the same time, I loathe him. And, between hatred and pain, there's this unceasing adoration -- This disgustingly pure love that we have for each other. That we've had for each other since he was sixteen-years-old.  
  
Oh, I haven't slept with him since he was a student at Hogwarts . . . Except once. It was during the Years of Terror -- two or three months before James and Lily Potter were executed, two or three months before Voldemort's defeat. He came to me in the middle of the night -- Weeping and scared, the icon of the wounded child. I held him, pulling him to my breast, and we made love. He whispered his secrets in my ear and, in return, I gave him everything I had. We belonged to each other from then on -- In moments of antipathy and of reverence. And, when he disappeared in Godric's Hollow that fateful night, I knew then that he hadn't perished -- I knew.  
  
The moment of penetration is labored and difficult. He's unspeakably tight -- Him with his newly-created, virgin body. I manage however and, despite some flinching and a couple of tears, he pushes me to continue. We try to devour each other from the outside-in -- Tongues thrusting, hands grabbing, legs tangling. It's as if we were trying to make two separate beings become one. Unfortunately, it was all-too-soon before it was over. He came to completion first and I followed thereafter. We lay next to each other after that -- Sweat plastering strands of hair to our foreheads, his slight form curled against my chest.  
  
"I'll have to leave soon," he murmurs. "I don't think I can spend the night. They might become suspicious . . ."  
  
He thrusts me back into the path of politics too soon and I groan in discouragement: "Why do you come back here at all? We're on opposing sides, Voldemort."  
  
"I can't move on," he replies honestly, kissing my collarbone once again. "Just tell me that you love me and I'll leave. I'll leave and the moment I pass through that door, the man who just slept with is tucked away again and the Dark Lord Voldemort will emerge triumphant."  
  
"Why does he have to be tucked away at all?" I ask, kissing his playfully on the lips. "Why can't he stay with me? Why can't we do this every night?"  
  
"Didn't we already talk about this?" Voldemort laughs, batting me away. And, yes, we've already talked about this and, yes, it's time for you to go away . . .  
  
But instead you curl up against me and I blow out the candle next to my bed.  
  
"Good-night Albus."  
  
"Good-night Tom." 


End file.
